


Pushing

by shaniacbergara



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Forgiveness, M/M, Praise Kink, Self-Esteem, Self-Hatred, it's not like it's EXPLICIT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 17:53:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20430035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaniacbergara/pseuds/shaniacbergara
Summary: Whoa okay idk where this come from but here you go you can take it. Yell at me over at isoundmybarbaricyawp on tumblr.





	Pushing

It happened like this:

When people don’t call him out on his bullshit, he gets upset. After all, nobody could ever say anything worse to Crowley than the things he says about himself. He wants people to say it, say something, so that it’s coming from somewhere other than his own mouth. When it comes right down to it, that’s probably why he proposed The Arrangement in the first place. An excuse to perhaps be told off by some lower authority.

Aziraphale, he knew, would be safe. He would get a note, a passing memo. Crowley could count on hearing all about his failings in multiple, detailed ways should Hell ever find out. He waited. The day never arrived. Eventually, he can’t figure out why Aziraphale keeps hanging around him. He’s fairly useless, not even good company, really. He starts to push. He can’t help it. He knows, eventually, that Aziraphale will tell him off. Will tell him how awful he is, how he’d always thought that, but was waiting in vain for Crowley to prove that he was Good.

So he pushes. It starts with the request. A meeting in the park, a scribbled note. I want insurance he says, and Aziraphale refuses him. He storms off, but it’s out of, dare he even think it, it’s out of care. It’s not enough.

He appears around Aziraphale more often, irritated and desperate, after freezing him out for decades. He appears in his car, looking quite comfortable._ I work in Soho, I hear things._ He says, as if Crowley didn’t know exactly where Aziraphale worked. As if he couldn’t feel his presence anywhere in the world. He hands him the thermos, and Crowley is livid. After everything you said. He hasn’t pushed hard enough. Aziraphale, damn him, values Crowley’s safety, and Crowley is miffed. _You go too fast for me Crowley_, and sure, Crowley’s heart breaks, but it’s not cruel. He knew that, he’d known about his problem with speed and Aziraphale for years now. But Aziraphale still won’t tell him what he is.

When the apocalypse looms, he pushes, suggests the murder of children. He pushes, demanding participation, collaboration. Aziraphale suggests light hearted work-arounds. It can’t last. He thinks it’ll come to a head, that Aziraphale will finally, FINALLY tell him what he is, how despicable and horrible he is, He waits, and all that comes is a reminder. _You were an angel once._ And this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, it wasn’t what was supposed to happen. He wants to draw the angel closer but he wants the angel to shove him away. Finally, he marches out of there, and his skin is crawling.

He decides, even if Aziraphale won’t tell him what he needs to hear, he’d still try his level best to save him. His car skids to a halt outside of Aziraphale’s bookstore, and he’s practically tripping over his feet as he begs him to get out of dodge. Finally, he can’t help himself but push again. He thinks he’s done it this time, for sure, that Aziraphale would snap. _How can someone as clever as you be so stupid?!_ He says it mockingly, and Aziraphale takes a breath. He’s sure, and his skin aches for it, he thinks. And Aziraphale does the impossible, the divinely forbidden. _I forgive you._ Crowley gets out of there as fast as he can, and before he can get too far inside of his flat he falls to his knees. His skin feels too tight, it feels precious and he can’t breathe but for knowing he didn’t deserve those three words, but Aziraphale gave them too him anyway.

After the apocalypse, and what a strange turn of phrase THAT was, he’s worried he’ll need to keep pushing, but Aziraphale stops him in his tracks. A murmured _you can stay at my place, if you_ like is followed by an acceptance. Is followed by wine and giddy relief. Is followed by Aziraphale, much too close. And Aziraphale’s mouth is on his but he won’t KISS him he just stays there, whispering _perfect_ and _good_ and_ lovely_ and _sweet_ and _kind_ and _loved_ and over and over and over again _forgiven forgiven forgiven_.

Before he had this, this insistence of forgiveness, he was sure that being in Aziraphale’s body might kill him. Might burn away all of the hated layers of his skin until there was nothing left to redeem. But he had been redeemed, Aziraphale had given him that, and wearing Aziraphale’s face felt like proof.

He whispers to Aziraphale that night, over and over and over again,_ thank you thank you thank you._ Aziraphale stops his litany with a kiss.


End file.
